


hate is easier to say

by caramelcoups



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dream Smp, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), El Rapids, Flashbacks, King GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Knight Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Minecraft Mechanics, New and Old Gods, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, a lot of describing colors, i didnt want to use Dream SMP as the name of the kingdom so i made my own
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelcoups/pseuds/caramelcoups
Summary: Much has been said between them, far too much honesty beyond its worth.Bathed in blue are his memories of moving lips on pillowcases and careless whispers on the rims of wine glasses. If he had any more to say the words would dissolve in the venom of his voice. But if honesty meant not holding his sword to the throat of the knight commander and instead tugging him close to feel briefly the warmth of his body, out of yearning and forgiveness - well, then George had lied.He had always been honest, especially to Dream, but maybe he had been dishonest if honesty meant getting what he wanted.ora dnf fic loosely inspired by the dethronement arc where dream is magic and george is king out of rightful succession.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 12





	1. far from you

**Author's Note:**

> wrote most of this november/december lol i joined the fandom around the time of the dethronement arc and loved the angst of the whole shebang. very important to note as i update the chapters that this is non-linear. will be muti-chapter but relatively short. 
> 
> also, couldn't bring myself to use Dream SMP. so the name of the kingdom is Desampara, from the Spanish word 'desamparar', meaning 'to abandon'.
> 
> comments, suggestions, criticism, kudos - very much appreciated! thank you <3

From beside George, Sapnap asks a question. “You love him, don’t you?”

Perhaps he did, George thinks, more than how a king should love anything but his kingdom. Once upon a time he would’ve answered Sapnap with a playful roll of his eyes and perhaps a quiet yes if Sapnap had looked closely enough. But now, now George doesn’t know how upfront he should be. He looks away.

“It doesn’t matter now, if I do. He’s gone.”

George stands on the hill that separates El Rapids from Desampara, the sun is an orange glow on blue-gray concrete and Sapnap is beside him, similarly stanced like unguarded hunters in noble clothing. This is almost a daily habit - looking over the kingdom he once ruled and not feeling a shred of yearning for the large plot of land. A regular remembrance of memories they want to wear out, like a cape that loses its color after consistent use and wash. Today, however, Sapnap decides to ask difficult questions. 

“He’s only a country away.” 

“No, Sapnap. He’s gone - he’s far away from here, from us.” George glances at his sheathed diamond sword on his hip, and briefly he envisions its crystal blue edge in between two green eyes. “We’re keeping it that way.”

Neither of them say his name. They know who he is - who they’re missing. They don’t need to say his name, and maybe they are afraid that speaking his name is a spell. A spell that took bloody betrayal to break.

“He doesn’t have to be.” Sapnap has the decency to look sheepish about this, at least. Though the lines are currently blurred and temporary peace treaties have been signed, they are still talking about the enemy. Despite heartaches and histories, they are still talking about the enemy. Grass bristles from below them. George takes a deep breath and lets out a huff.

He looks at Sapnap with a snarl and a twist of his lips. “What are you talking about? Of course he has to be. You of all people should know why, Sapnap, remember which side you’re on.”

“I’m always on yours George,” Sapnap replies with a small smile, with all the understanding of a gardener cutting his hand on a thorn. “And despite everything that’s been said, I know there’s still so much both of you want to say to each other.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” George looks away once again, suddenly captivated by the dusk capturing the capitol. 

“Why not?”

Sudden quiet anger bubbles in George’s chest. Of course it doesn’t matter now - not the love that perhaps once pulled him into the madness of believing promises, and certainly not the sheets he once shared with a traitor. Now that the wars are over, he has time to think, to remember. And now he can allow the anger to sit and simmer and coerce his tongue into saying words laden with meaning without chiding himself for being distracted in warfare. George almost prays for another revolution instead.

Because his anger is quiet, sometimes he has trouble hearing it himself. He seethes in silence and rejoices in tones. 

When he answers Sapnap after a moment of thought, the words come grouped with arduous remembrance.

“He betrayed us, Sapnap.”  _ Eret has been declared king. _

“I know.” The noble looks down, no doubt remembering the same words George did. A small frown places itself on his lips but George knows he doesn’t regret speaking his mind. In spite of unwavering loyalty and friendship, and years of holding position in high court, Sapnap was never one to hold back with his words or to revise them into something more palatable. Admirable, yet a fearsome characteristic when George faces Sapnap in duels of dishonesty. 

What else is there to say? The treachery had hurt. There were so many reasons why it had hurt. George had counted every single one because he refuses to call the pain heartbreak. Louder than before, but quieter than he should, George speaks.

“He took everything from me.” _ I’m doing this because I care about you. _

“You don’t care.” Sapnap answers with a lilt. He knows George as well as anybody could. 

George looks at him incredulously, still. 

“I was king.”  _ This kingdom rises and falls with your rule. _

He looks over on the scenery in front of him again, now basking in the last rays of sunlight for the day. He was once king of the kingdom that his father had ruled with an iron fist and a stone heart, he once tried to be better, kinder. But kindness required bravery, to change the manners that were unkind towards those most deserving of kindness - and George had never been quite brave enough to be wholly kind. As the king, and even as the crown prince, George has fought for policies that would disallow complete power in Desampara. While he may be quite foolish in the matters of rich and apparently powerful men, he knew that power corrupts. Like it had with his father. Like it had with Dream.

Unluckily for him, power had always been abundant in Desampara. Desampara stands in the lands of holy, powerful beings. Old gods that live on in the form of young vessels. For many, they are tales, myths - things to tell children so they may not stray too late at night. For George, they were very real people. One of them was the man he had promised his heart to. One of them was a half-human bloodthirsty creature who had taken one of his lives.

Power always had such an ugly face. 

“You never wanted to be,” Sapnap replies. Silence falls in between them once more. El Rapids is usually so alive, loud with boisterous voices and festivities, although high up on the dirt platform that separated them from their enemies, the wind was as quiet as a whisper.

It’s true, George thinks. He never wanted the responsibility. He thought he couldn’t handle it, not without Dream by his side at least. In the end, that had been his downfall.

“I don’t have anything to say to him.”  _ Devotion is just a lot of the things we’re not allowed to say. _

“Only because you refuse to be honest.”

Much has been said between them, far too much honesty beyond its worth. Bathed in blue are his memories of moving lips on pillowcases and careless whispers on the rims of wine glasses. If he had any more to say the words would dissolve in the venom of his voice. But if honesty meant not holding his sword to the throat of the Commander and instead tugging him close to feel briefly the warmth of his body, out of yearning and forgiveness - well, then George had lied. He had always been honest, especially to Dream, but maybe he had been dishonest if honesty meant getting what he wanted.

“He lied to me first.”  _ I love you.  _

George’s voice betrays him and wavers slightly - gives off emotion that is not anger. He turns on his heel and starts to walk away. These are not the memories he wishes to wear out.

He stops for a moment when he hears Sapnap behind him. “Yet you forgave him.” 

The words are said with a distinct lack of everything George would have expected - no grief or spat out bitterness. This is the first time they’ve ever acknowledged the exiled king’s easy forgiveness. For George it was as incriminating as the treachery itself.

Sapnap turns to where George has halted, his back now against the setting sun and his hair suddenly wild in the wind. He speaks loudly and his words pierce the wind.

“And isn’t that love, George?” 

He doesn’t need to convince George of something he already painfully knows.


	2. close to you

George is gazing up at the moon from the balcony of his bedchambers.

The word _alive_ has always been reserved for the day and the sun, but as he breathes the air of the evening, he sways and stills, watching the night’s landscape show off its liveliness. It’s hard for him to see the vibrant greens of the hills he overlooks in the morning, and the verdure of surrounding hedges and apple trees - but at night they’re bathed in blue and white moonlight. The man beside him cloaked in green is the same way, in the blue of the night, George sees him and the contrast of his figure against the rest of the world as a background. “For how long will you be gone?”

The taller man beside him grins while facing the opposite way, leaning against the balusters and shifting his stare from the torchlit interior of the room to the young king’s face.

“Only a couple of days, your majesty.” He replies lightly.

George replies with a huff of indignation. “You promised you’d come with me to hunt, Dream.” The weather has been nice and warm lately. George is donned in light cotton and silk sleepwear, thoroughly enjoying the gentle breeze. He hops on top of the balustrade and sits there, letting his feet swing barefoot over the edge of the castle. Dream’s arm shoots out instinctually to wrap around his waist.

And though the knight is still looking away, George almost feels him let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll be back by then, don’t worry.” 

George leans his head against Dream’s shoulder which was clad only in a forest green tunic after the knight had shed his aketon and mail earlier in the evening. George feels the warmth of skin and strength on his cheek through the cloth.

The moon glows and shines down, taking a photograph of a quick moment in dim exposure and faded black edges. Dream’s thumb catches on smooth cloth as he feels the curve of George’s waist and pulls him closer to his side. Chapped lips touch ebony hair as he cranes his neck to listen to a reply.

“I’d be lost without you,” George replies with a small smile. Both of them can tell that he’s half-joking.

“You’ll be just fine.” 

They quite like teasing him about that - about George being hopeless without Dream. Sapnap sometimes watches them spar (refusing to join himself, the bastard) and cheers everytime the king falls on his behind after being beaten in a match. Although, he does occasionally win through _unorthodox_ means. George is unsure about how he feels. He knows he isn’t useless, but he also knows that he would already be dead without Dream by his side.

Multiple beats of silence pass, broken by the knight. “George.”

“Dream.” The king replies, in substitute of a hum. He had always liked saying his name. 

Keeping his occupied arm in place, Dream takes a step to face outwards like George. He plasters his chest against the smaller man’s back, both arms now engulfing his middle. George feels Dream’s chin perch on his shoulder, and his breath steady on the side of his neck.

They are wonderfully warm, in the kind chill of the night. They are breathing in sync, overlooking the same garden and looking to the rolling hills in the horizon. The kingdom is bathed in moonlight. George allows his hand to be lifted by a larger one, removing it from its place on the other’s forearm. Dream takes his hand, holds it in front of both of their faces. Candlelight graces the planes on the back of his hand, as the evening’s blue engulfs the kingdom. 

“This kingdom…” Dream starts. George turns his head to the side, leaning against the man behind him. 

“...rises and falls with your rule. The kingdom owes its beauty to your own, its power to your decree. And by your light, it glows.” 

George lets out a hum and offers a small smile. “Only with you by my side.”

“I am no ruler.”

“You’ve always been a protector.”

It’s all George has ever known him as. When he thinks of Dream he thinks of iron shields and wide territory banners and obsidian walls - he thinks of a person who will do anything for the kingdom he loves so deeply, for the loyalty he keeps so dearly.

The other man chuckles. “Yours.”

“Desampara’s.”

“Yours.”

“You protect the throne, Dream.” George responds with an amused yet forceful tone.

“I promise you, George, when I hold back a raid, I don’t think of a chair. I am a knight, my king. But George, I promise I am _yours._ ” Locked in Dream’s arms still, George turns a bit more to look the other man in the eye. He didn’t know what to expect to see, but he didn’t gather he’d find polished gold irises, reflecting stars in the night sky and solemn honesty.

A couple of weeks ago, and then a few months ago, and then again many years ago; it all had blurred into a flurry of violence that George had never had to touch. He remembers the infiltration of men from a place called L’manberg of the palace, over and over again as they fought for independence. This group hadn’t been the only threat to the throne and the kingdom’s unity, but they had been the only one to organize a coup. They had been tenacious, and George would have offered them an audience had not Dream leveled them with a look and a line. _L’manberg can be independent, but not free._ In his deep-seated need to keep the kingdom safe and united.

George fails to reply and Dream continues. “My loyalty is Desampara’s but my devotion is yours.”

“Devotion is just a lot of the things we’re not allowed to say.” George tucks himself closer to the taller man, and keeps the confession treasured in his mind. Dream is difficult to understand. Fearsome yet the safest place in the world. Dream is someone he could hold close and feel so far away from. George is afraid of how Dream’s words of devotion have come to unravel in his head. There are now tangled strings of words he has always known but never quite admitted - loyalty, dedication, fidelity, commitment, love. 

George trusts Dream, but in the moment he doubts the wholeheartedness of a few softly-spoken words. “A lot of things you don’t mean.”

“I mean everything I say.” Dream says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Then everything you say becomes a promise.”

“Only the things I say in your presence.”

George revels quietly in the promise of honesty. “Do I make you honest?”

“You compel me to make difficult promises.” Dream promises so much more.


End file.
